Let it Go Already
by RedMonocle
Summary: "Forrester… you have no clue just how badly I want to punch you in the face for even suggesting that." Brinker's POV. One-shot. COMPLETE.


**A/N:**

**So! Here's my newest contribution to the fandom. 'Twas entered in a contest, but received little mention. Still, I'm proud of it. :D**

**Warning: Contains heart-wrenching feels. Break out your tissues.**

**-Reddie**

* * *

I got a letter the other day, saying that Brownie, my old roommate, was dead.

I couldn't help but smirk bitterly, thinking of how comfy and cozy he must've been, easing back into his sterile death bed and using the last of his remaining strength to jot down his dying wish for me to fulfill. It wasn't even something he desperately wanted, just something optional for me. He wrote it himself, that I didn't have to do what he was asking. I didn't have to come here, come back to Devon and reminisce on innocent days with the knowledge that they could never be reclaimed.

What was the point behind revisiting an old place when it would never the same?

Today, I was not to be disturbed. I just wanted to walk alone, in peace, on this campus for as long as possible, even if it was raining. My head was cluttered with thoughts that I desperately needed an escape from, even if just for a moment. For one thing, I was still grieving the loss of my mother, who had passed away weeks before Brownie did; and, for another, I'd just gotten out of an argument with my aggravatingly stubborn and narrow-minded father moments ago.

God knows I'm sick of dealing with him. I couldn't help but wish Mom was still around to ease the tension between us. Undeniably, she had a natural gift for setting people at ease. But now she was gone, and along with her, her gift had disappeared from me as well.

That wasn't necessarily a first for me, the death of someone who brought me peace. In fact, this place… was home to the first time I'd ever experienced such a loss.

Inanely, I made my way towards _that tree_, the long-forsaken home of the Super Suicide Society of the Summer Session. The memory of the name alone was enough to elicit both a numb pang of sorrow and a soundless chuckle from me.

To me, _that tree_ would never just be a tree. It was more than that. It was the crime scene to a cold case that would never be investigated again, and, even more so, a memorial to the boy who never became a man. Finally, the tree came into view, standing off in the distance against a background of the sky's misty gray.

Someone's figure stood by it.

He couldn't have been an instructor, because I knew no one who wanted to return to the workplace during a time for vacation. And he was too big to be a student, so he definitely must've been a visiting alumnus like me.

Even so, never before in my life was I more frustrated to see an old classmate from high school.

I didn't want to speak with him, I didn't want to listen to whatever he had to say, and I didn't even want to _walk _with him. Barely able to make out the coat-bundled figure through the fog, I assumed I was well outside his line of vision, and so I took a roundabout turn to avoid him. But suddenly, the thought that I was being a coward not to face this man slowed my steps. I denied it to myself first, brushing it off, before the thought that I was being disrespectful to the dead crossed my mind.

I understood it was my decision, but yet I felt a sense of obligation to fulfill my late roommate's dying wish. Brownie specifically asked me to visit the tree and pay my respects to Finny. And, optional or not, it didn't feel right to me to simply leave his business unfinished.

It was a little odd though, since Brownie barely ever knew Finny. Still, I supposed all the antics, from the blitzball games to the winter carnival, would've been enough to brand the memory of the boy into the back of his mind somewhere. So Finny had apparently made more of an impression on Brownie than I thought, but that didn't surprise me too greatly. After all, given everything that happened, a boy like that is... too difficult to forget, to say the least.

We met, halfway from and halfway towards the tree.

"Ah, well, hello there." The other alumnus greeted.

It didn't take me long to realize who he was. Fifteen years had changed his face, and deepened the tone of his voice, but his other features, such as the color of his eyes and hair, weren't beyond recognition.

"Oh, Gene. It's you."

He gave me a confused naïve smile, obviously not remembering me, "Did you use to attend class here as well?"

"Come on, it's me, Brinker." I stated flatly.

"Ah!" Gene smiled, taking my hand with both of his and giving one firm shake. "It's been so long! Sorry I never mailed you. I seemed to have lost your address…" his eyes drifted away from me, off to the side on that last statement, but they quickly ascended to meet mine once again. He gave me a peculiar look, still smiling, and then stated, "You look _different_."

The tone of the word "different" had some certain flair to it, like he was pleased by this fact. I was puzzled at what I had said to make him so happy. Still, I played along and simply reflected the comment back at him.

"So do you." And then he clapped, so suddenly that my spine went stiff in surprise at the sound.

He laughed, "Yes! Yes, I do. Wonderful, isn't it?"

"What's so wonderful?" I blurted out, managing to keep a handle on my voice. He was really irritating me now, acting so mindlessly jolly for no apparent reason. "I know I look different. So what?"

"It's beautiful." Gene crooned, "_Nothing_ ever stays the same. _Nothing_ lasts forever." A sort of fondness tinged his voice as he said these depressing words.

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

"You're _happy_ that things change?" I spoke evenly, my lips drawn taut and tense. I most certainly wasn't happy for that fact, since change hadn't been quite kind to me as of late. Change had brought me the death of my mother, and the end of peace with my dad. I'd do anything to bring her back, because I was tired of the hatred between me and my father and all his delusions of grandeur from "his war". I was tired of hearing about what he almost did all those years ago, and how disappointed he was in me for becoming an "almost" as well. He wished I had been his second chance, the one who'd bring home all those supposedly exciting memories of combat that he'd never seen. But I didn't want to be his story-teller, and I never was. As a result, the old man refused to respond to anything that came out of my mouth which was unrelated to the war.

_This_ was why I believed there were some things in this world that should _never_ have to change.

Gene replied simply, "But of course." His smile did not waver as he said this. It only grew brighter. "See, Brinker, I was just at Finny's tree," I cringed at the casual use of the boy's name, but Gene didn't seem to notice my reaction as he continued on, "and it doesn't look anything like it used to. It's feeble and dying."

That was horrible.

"And you call _that_ wonderful?" I asked him, my voice edged with disbelief.

"Yes!"

And once that joyful singular syllable passed his lips, I couldn't stop myself from grabbing him by the collar of his coat.

"Why would you say that!" I practically roared, wiping the smile off his face. "I thought you two were best friends!"

For some reason, this caused the smile to creep back up again, though it seemed softer now.

"Actually… we weren't."

I gripped his coat tighter.

"That's bull and you know it." But he merely shook his head. I furrowed my brows, my hands trembling with rage. "If you two weren't even friends, what were you then?"

"We were more than that." He answered. "He was my other half."

Instantly, I let go of his coat, feeling like I'd heard something I wasn't supposed to hear. My cheeks flared with heat and embarrassment.

I could only splutter, "Gene, you—what, what are you even trying to say?"

"You know, I'm certain that I loved him." I felt my throat tighten up, shocked by such a confession. This was definitely _not_ the way a Devon man spoke, yet he went on, like these words meant little, "I always felt like something was missing when he wasn't around…" he noted softly, as though he were speaking to himself, as if that pitiful little comment was the answer to my question.

"What, so you two had some silly little romance with each other?" I blurted out. "Why do you feel the need to tell me that?" He shook his head again, giving a chuckle like he knew something I didn't. It was irksome, and I wished he'd just come out and say whatever the hell he was trying to say.

He pointed directly at my face.

"You don't get it."

"Then _make_ me get it." I brought my hands down on his shoulders, shaking him slightly, "Gene, _why_ are you even here?"

There was a pause, filled in with all the sounds of the rain, and it felt much longer than it needed to be.

"I'm here for me," He looked up to the sky, "for my other half. When Finny left, he washed things away. I just wanted to see what was left." Casting a short glance to the tree behind him, he sighed pleasantly, "I know what happened to Finny in the past is nothing for me to be proud of. That's why I'm glad the tree is different. That's why I'm glad you're different. Everything that once was years ago… there's no trace of it left."

"Gene…" My voice shook. I didn't know what to say, but he enraged me beyond belief.

"It's wonderful weather today. You and I both know the windows can get pretty dirty. The grime is no match against all this rain." Gene inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, "Yes, no better smell than nice clean rain."

Something in me snapped, but it wasn't a trigger for anger. It was far more painful than that. His words… caused an ache so sharp in my chest that tears began tumbling from my eyes as a result.

"You can't. You can't just let him disappear like that!" I was sobbing, but I could care less about how childish I must've looked. "That's just plain wrong!"

Gene stared at me thoughtfully, waiting for me to elaborate.

But I couldn't explain it to him, because all the words were stuck in my throat, and the millions of reasons that he just couldn't let go of Finny like that were all ricocheting inside my skull.

Finny had a gift, a special ability to bring peace with his passions. He was a light that penetrated into even the darkest corners of the hearts of the most bitter at Devon. He was just a boy, inches away from becoming a man, with dreams for the future. And Gene had carelessly ruined those dreams with some stupid move out on the limb. He wrecked his best friend's life. And he was the cause for its end.

Had I been Gene, I would've sooner rotted in hell than forgiven myself for committing such a terrible crime.

My problem was that I wasn't Gene, nor was I Finny. I was just someone at the side, uninvolved but somehow still affected. The pain I felt at this tragedy wasn't something I could just let go of. Something about merely putting this small incident behind me was… incredibly wrong to me.

I cared more than I should have, but, to me, throwing that concern away meant losing my humanity. After all I'd been through in the war, I wasn't about to lose my last shred of it. I needed to _feel_ this, to _carry_ this little thing with me, or I'd become numb to every injustice. That was something I desperately did not want to become. I simply couldn't let that happen. It was immoral!

"Brinker, please don't cry." His tone was soothing, but full of hurt. "It's okay now. It's all behind us. It's over." I couldn't stop crying though, to my embarrassment. Without my approval, he then took me into his arms and embraced me, giving soft comforting pats to my back.

I didn't want comfort from a murderer though. I wanted Finny to come back to life, become a man and fulfill his dreams with his broken leg stronger than ever. But that was impossible, and it would never happen.

"Phineas…"

Gently, Gene whispered, "There, there. See? This is why you should be happy things change. Don't you think it'd be so much easier on you if you just… let it go already?"

Pulling myself together, I weakly pushed against him, and with this, he gave and stepped back. My voice had lost all bite to it, so there was no auditory force left to put behind my words. Even so, I still had the voice left to utter them.

"Forrester… you have no clue just how badly I want to punch you in the face for even suggesting that." There was another pause, or rather, now it was a long drawn-out void of empty sound passing between us. Even the noises of falling rain had been muted as they silently collided with the already dampened earth.

Then, Gene uttered a final sigh before stepping past me.

"It's clear you and I are not going to be on the same page anytime soon. But no matter. All things _must_ change some day, so your mind definitely will too. You can't carry that pain forever." There was a moment of hesitation, before he added, "I would know. That's why I _had_ to let go." Clearing out his throat, he bid me farewell, "Well, it's time for me to head inside before the cold makes me ill. You should come along too, but it's all fine and dandy if you don't want to." He took my silence as confirmation of this, and I couldn't help but turn around to catch a last glimpse at him. But he was already moving onwards. He chuckled, "Send me a letter sometime, won't you?"

On that note, he departed, fading away into the mist.

I sprinted towards the tree, lamenting its condition the minute I laid eyes on it. The tree limbs, which had once been strong and sturdy enough to leap from, atrophied into a state beyond recognition. The trunk, now simply a slumped-over lump, was so shriveled that it looked like it belonged in a blazing hearth rather than out here. It was dried out beyond salvation, so badly that even all the rain in New England wouldn't be able to bring it back to life.

Was this… really what had become of his memorial?

Was this really the only tangible evidence left of his existence?

Was this pitiful meager thing _really_ all that was left?

"Brownie..." I grumbled out his name like a curse, wanting to turn around and leave. But my feet refused to move.

So I did what his so-called "other half" could not do for him. I wept, I lamented, and I gave him the proper respects he deserved, laying my hands upon the brittle bark. And it crumbled beneath my fingertips without any of my intentions set on destroying it.

I stood there crying for at least two hours, wondering bitterly why it had to be him of all people to die at such a young age.

How could life be so unfair?


End file.
